


Inked-Spilled Skies of Broken Promises

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Hallucinations, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Shiro (Voltron) is Missing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: It took a while, it always did when it came to fucking the people he plucked out from the crowd. He had to be so far into the realm of anger-filled bliss to finally let himself be lost into the deeper confinements of his mind, where fingers that buried themselves into his hair weren’t those of his current bed warmers, melding between what was real and fake until finally,finally, Keith wasn't able to keep up.Sometimes, things would go South when he accidentally let a name slipped.





	Inked-Spilled Skies of Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this tweet I remember seeing on Twitter but I forgot to save it; older Keith having sex with people who look like Shiro. If anyone saved it, can you please tell me so that I can give proper credit to the creator.
> 
> Enjoy!

It didn't take him long to pick out what he was searching for.

Drowning himself in the air of tangy alcohol and day-old sweat, a shot glass dangled between his fingertips while Keith made himself sat on one of the stools by the bar; his position completely efficient in a way he wouldn't be obscured by mingling people after day's work, nor would the quiet shadows at the corner of the pub would dare reach for him when he was out in the open.

It was as if he was selling himself as an eager prostitute waiting to be picked up by opportunists, but even they get money for something they wanted to do, urging to get a few leaves of hundreds slipped under their clothes before they abandon their employees completely.

He didn't have any particular goal when he put himself in the thick of a crowd, merely half hoping to get a quick blow on the pissed toilet floor before he would leave for the Castle of Lions tomorrow morning.

Funny how he came back to Earth for some chopped up consolation when he hadn't wanted anything with people before. There had been another legitimate reason for it, of course, and he made sure it became the very foundation of his little vacations to his home planet in the first place.

Taking a swing, the pale vodka burned down his tongue and throat, the murmur of chatter and boisterous laughter dulled seamlessly at the background while his eyes pierced through the back of the bartender’s neck.

Earth, unlike several others, was one of the most fortunate planets to live in their own corruption of political laws instead of being in Galra Empire’s clutches. Humans, ungrateful bastards they were, stayed oblivious to the type of threat hanging just outside their solar system while others fought wars to snatch back the freedom they were stolen from.

Irony kissed his forehead as a greeting the moment he so much saw the peak of skyscrapers clawing the clouds.

The bartender had a build stockier than he had and stood a bit taller than Keith himself, his hair a dark brown slicked back with gel while a smartphone was shoved into the back of his jeans pockets. Even then, Keith took a moment to trace his eyes along the way denim hugged snugly around the globes of his ass and the length of his thighs, the thin white shirt he wore showed every shift of muscles when he moved to grab another glass to work with.

As much as Keith admired his physique, a different detail was what made his attention snap onto the bartender alone the moment he asked for his order.

Swiping the rim of the glass with a thumb, Keith merely waited for him to finish wiping and rearranging the clean glasses and cups before hanging them on their respective hooks, the side of his foot tapping against his chair with the rhythm of Glen Campbell’s Southern Nights.

The blaring music from the speakers was loud enough for Keith to hear it over the white noises of other customers walking in, their blazers hung at the crook of their arms while their ties draped over their shoulders. The very image of release, and a concept that slipped through his fingers with the same mass of smoke.

Once the bartender caught how Keith made no attempt to hide his ogling, he gave an amused smile that was accompanied with twinkling brown eyes. “Another?”

Keith blinked once, darting a glance at his glass before lifting his gaze up to the bartender’s face again. “Sure, why not?”

“Day off?” The bartender asked while he made a grab for another glass, and Keith didn't looked away.

The scar was almost similar in a way that made Keith felt the same type of pressure clenching fitfully under his sternum - promptly choking him until breathing almost seemed impossible to achieve when his lungs were being held captives. He couldn't help but stare at the white scratch of mended flesh running perpendicularly down the middle of his face, starting from the corner of his eye to the swell of his cheek.

It took some effort to not let Keith grit his molars together, the ball lodged in his throat swallowed down with some difficulty when the words refused to form even though the man waited patiently for his answer.

It was rude to be far too interested in a stranger's old injury when he probably didn't want to talk about it, but Keith had neglected his dignity when polishing its armour for the sake of being presentable was considered as a waste of time. These little act of lies left a sour taste in his mouth, and if the universe couldn’t bare to face him in his full honesty, then they didn't deserve what he thought.

Luckily for Keith, the bartender had properly gotten used to be stared at, and didn't comment on his blatant scrutiny to be bothered by it.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, trying to keep his tone casual. “You could say that.”

When a newly filled glass was set in front of him, Keith let the empty one be plucked from his light grip. The brush of the bartender’s fingertips crackled against his skin, and it vanished with a snap when Keith subtly curled his fingers into his palm.

“This is a small town, so I've never seen you before,” the man continued conversationally as he cleaned the used glass, but when Keith lifted his eyes from the transparent liquid, interest burned in the pits of his gaze. “You're going somewhere? Errands to run, people to see?” 

Keith purposely tilted his head to the side, hiding a smile when the man before him watch his hair brushed his cheek. “Why? Thought of coming with?”

The bartender shrugged, not condemning enough to make Keith feel insulted, merely answering a question with a simple gesture. “Depends on where you're going. If you're going to Pluto, I’d like to prove the scientists that it's still a planet.”

Something sharp struck his chest, and Keith reached out to wrap his fingers around the glass to hide an old wound. “Pluto’s still a planet, don’t worry.”

With a hip leaned against the counter, the bartender looked genuinely curious in what he said. “How'd you know? You don’t see any announcement made by people in suits on TV.” 

“Because people are more interested in surviving down here to be bothered by everything up there.” Keith shrugged. “News doesn't give us much choice, anyway.”

“Space seems like a great way to escape from it all,” the bartender joked, using his palms to support himself against the counter. “Who knows? Maybe some of us would find something habitable and just leave this place secretly.”

Keith couldn't help it, the breath of chuckles that burst out made him lower his head to avoid eye contact.

“Something funny?”

The man in front of him didn’t even sound offended, and the familiar amusement thrumming underneath his perplexed tone sent another pang into his heart. “Space,” lifting his head, Keith saw the way the bartender cocked an eyebrow at him. “is larger than you'd expect.”

There was a quirk of a smile. “Sounds a bit like an adventure to me.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Keith pointed out.

“Never stopped us from going to the end of the solar system, though.”

Keith pressed his tongue against the back of his bottom teeth, before opting to tilt his head back and swallow the drink with a single gulp, and he felt the way the bartender’s eyes impaled down the length of his neck.

There were never really rules for this, but Keith was beginning to think they were treading into a territory he left with his lion back at the castle.

“You're staying here for the night?” The bartender asked, somehow able to feel the change in the air, but remained in his current position while Keith tried not to slam the glass on the surface of the counter. “It’s too dark to drive around when you're in the middle of nowhere, and from your third glass of the strongest vodka I have, it's better you don't crash that pretty bike of yours to oblivion.”

Funny, Keith didn't feel drunk yet. He clicked his tongue once. “That never stopped me before.”

The bartender was surprised at how his words were being flung back at him, and let out a snort of laughter. “Smartass, are you?”

“I've been told,” Keith said with a loose cross of his arms against his chest, falling back into the trail for his main goal. “Good ass too.”

There was no movement while Keith sat perfectly still on his stool, his ankles crossed tightly underneath him as he allowed himself be regarded by the man behind the counter with careful eyes, as if he was trying to dig through the titanium wall Keith built from his own immovable dedication of smothering embers of frustration in his being.

Those same brown gaze flickered to a stray strand of hair curling at the side of his face, before snapping them back up to where Keith waited for him with almost unconcealed impatience. “Aren't you intimidated by this god-awful scar on my face?”

The insecurity was almost cute.

Keith made a point to drag his eyes across the length of it slowly, and met the bartender’s nervous look with an even one of his own. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Don't tell me you're enraptured by my personality.” A smirk took form at this, emphasizing his need to cover his nerves up with a giant bow.

Keith laughed hollowly. “The scar was what caught my attention.”

“What, got a thing for scarred dudes?”

The attempted distractions were getting bothersome, and Keith was slowly losing his ability to grip onto his flimsy pillar of peace. “If you're not interested,” he began lowly, letting the first signs of boredom seep in as he leaned away from their bubble of space. “I'll leave.”

“That's not what I meant.” The man said quickly, panic springing in his eyes.

Lance would have been impressed by his ability to play the kicked puppy in getting what he wanted.

“Really?” Keith easily replied.

Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, it was obvious how quickly the bartender went through a catalog of words to use before Keith would leave, frantically searching for the best sentence that could make him stay a little longer than before.

Keith took note of how this type of complications never happened when he was with anyone else, and made the decision to leave as soon as he was able too.

Releasing his red bitten lip, the bartender took a small breath to compose himself before looking at Keith directly in the eyes, iris almost quivering under his mask of confidence. “My shift ends at twelve before a colleague of mine comes along to take over the place. Maybe -” he cut himself off when a customer sat two seats away from Keith, before continuing in a rushed mutter, “we can leave then?”

The undeniable disgust Keith held for himself for making someone sound so hopeful was teetering to the brink of being overwhelmed - but, he merely pushed the empty glass towards the bartender, a faint smile plastered sloppily on his lips. “Fine with me.”

Exactly an hour later, while another man came in through the back door and greeted the bartender with a handshake, Keith stood up from his seat and made his way towards the entrance with a tug of his black leather jacket around himself. The air turned chilly after the sun sunk long ago as he pushed the door open with a rattled tinkle of a bell, making clouds of air puff out the moment he stepped out of the pub.

Boots scuffed against the pavement as he began his walk towards the motel he rented next door, shoving his hands into his pockets to withstand the cold.

He could almost hear the way Hunk shook his head when the bell rang again in the distance, as well as the struck of feet against the ground looming nearer.

He had done this before. Keith could see how admirable the bartender held himself together instead of being the same jittery man by the bar - as if sleeping with his customers was part of his routine, Keith mused - and swung the door open the moment it unlocked.

It was as if fate made sure they swung by each other’s range for the sake of being the same type of creatures.

Keith was able to wipe the image of his disapproving friends from his mind as he kissed his partner, pushing him against the closed door until the thud of his body slammed against the surface rang through the small room. There was no time to be sentimental at this part of the night when there was none to spare, and it reflected against the way Keith tugged onto his buckle impatiently, shoving his tongue into a filthy kiss that left the larger man moaning in surprise.

It took a while, it always did when it came to fucking the people he plucked out from the crowd. He had to be so far into the realm of anger-filled bliss to finally let himself be lost into the deeper confinements of his mind, where fingers that buried themselves into his hair weren’t those of his current bed warmers, melding between what was real and fake until finally, _finally,_ Keith wasn't able to keep up.

Sometimes, things would go South when he accidentally let a name slipped.

Until then, he relished on the burn of blunt nails digging his ass apart while a warm, flat tongue pressed itself against his fucked-through entrance, prodding and lapping up the mess they made with all the lavishness of well-fed cat that made Keith pressed his forehead against the mattress with a muffled groan.

Sometimes, teeth would graze around the head of his cock while those hands spread his legs apart - the pads of artificial fingers brushing against the back of his knee while his flesh hand pressed against his abdomen, hoping to keep Keith in one place while the person took his cock in one go. But then, he would let his jaw unhinged loose, giving Keith the chance to fuck into his throat.

Keith could have sworn he felt the burns searing past his palm for tugging onto strands of shock white hair, and couldn’t help the whimper from breaking through his flushed lips.

But, he never screamed. These people didn't deserve to reduce him to raw serenity.

It didn't help when all he could see was those grey eyes lit with mirth while Keith tightened his legs around the other's waist, the same hands gripping onto his thighs would surely leave bruises in the morning as the man watched Keith bounce onto his dick. Keith would have his head tilted to the ceiling while his own hardened cock leaked with precum, moaning into the air as he held onto broad shoulders underneath him.

And he would force himself to swallow the choked shout as he came hard onto his stomach, feeling the way teeth and tongue alike tugged and pressed his nipples while he tried to catch his breath.

When images melted away into the real world, Keith didn't have the same type of bravery to glance at the sleeping body tangled in sheets while cleaning himself up. He didn't even look back as he reached for the doorknob to leave with a tail between his legs.

He knew that his coping mechanism might as well be suicidal from how he was hurting himself like this, but he couldn't bring himself to admit that he was ashamed.

Later, when dawn was near as the skies greeted them with the wistful colours of purples and pinks, Keith could feel the way the bartender of the pub watching him from the bed as he buttoned his jeans.

“You only slept for a couple of hours.” He croaked out, and Keith hid trails of red scratches littering against his skin under his shirt.

“I need to get back to work,” Keith grabbed the jacket he threw on one of the chairs in his blind haze of blatant desperation, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Just go back to sleep. The room's already paid anyway.”

He didn't wait for an answer before he was out of the room, letting the cold morning air slap him in the face while he closed the door behind him. Quickly shucking on his jacket, Keith took out his keys and began his walk towards his red hoverbike, thankful that he packed dry food and a few cans of red bull in the back compartment before he left.

To know their names was a sin he rather not commit, where he rather preserve the type of anonymity between himself and the strangers he shared a bed with.

He made sure he never slept with the same person twice, or even stay in town any longer than he was in at the very moment.

It was considered as habitual, and breaking it wasn't even an option.

 

* * *

 

“How was Mother Nature?”

Keith spared Lance a look before going back to the tab balanced on his thigh. “In tears,” he replied, furrowing his brows slightly as he went through laws that had been passed through since the Galra Empire took over, comparing them to the ones in ten-thousand-year-old books. “Her children are being a bunch of dicks.”

There was a snort, and Lance had to tiptoe pass opened books, sprawled pens and post-its before he settled somewhere to Keith's right, the only empty space left for him to squeeze in as he folded his legs. “Mama’s dying and no one cares,” Lance mused. “How are we gonna tell our children about Earth’s amazing ability to hold up people like that?”

“Through the archive,” Keith responded blithely, highlighting an agreement of procedures on what a planet should do under the Empire's reign when dealing with economic recovery. “And we're no better when we're up here.”

“We’re excused because we're cleaning an intergalactic mess,” Lance said, smoothing down a post-it to have a peek at his notes. “Who knows, maybe we'll clean up your mess too.”

The easy flow of words didn't show how they drilled into his bones with every hard punctuation, vibrating the very core of his being until it rattled on his nerves. Keith felt a muscle jump in his jaw when he lifted his gaze to look at the man who had seen him belittled by his own actions and regrets, and was miffed to find how those blue eyes learned to look for his lowest points.

Throughout the process of the Empire's downfall was enough to expose them to the type of bond the former paladins failed to achieve, where love and trust ran deeper within their veins until it was enough to bind them to the end of their days. Passion and ferocity for their teammates’ safety had always been a glaring priority from day one, and they mended enough slashed wounds to know that their hard work in keeping their family in one piece had always been worth their existence.

The years gave them the time to discover themselves again. With that, privacy was scarce to keep within their links of consciousness. It wasn't long before each paladin was able to catch on the slightest bit of change in their teammate’s mood, and while Keith appreciated the way it saved their lives numerous times in the past, he didn't like how he didn't have a time to himself like he used to.

His teammates tended to be a consistent presence in his mind that sometimes he wasn't able to have some peace, and it didn't help they were nosy in everything he did.

Of course, his life at the dessert for that year as a teenager may have tweaked his ways of social interaction, but the knowing look Lance gave him was enough to make Keith raise the barrier with an obdurate slam.

“Personal events don’t mix with work,” Keith reminded him, choosing to ignore the way Lance quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. “And it can't be involved intergalactically.”

“If you wanted to talk diplomatic with me, you should have been with Hunk when Allura took him planet hopping,” Lance told him lamely. “Or followed what the ministers suggested and be a king so that you shut me up completely.”

Some saw him as a representative of Galra as a whole, insisting they had a chance to weave relationships in maintaining peace with Altea by rolling the ball first, and this was to rekindle a collapsed bond their former rulers once had a lifetime ago. Their joined hands would show a sign of trust and loyalty, and this type of display would urge other leaders to come to the terms of accepting Galra as their allies once again.

The Black Paladin was already a heavy title he hefted on his back for the last three years; to marry Allura and have a crown on top of his head was far too much than what he expected.

What king would flee to another planet when he would be expected from everyone else in the universe?

He wasn't supposed to lead, never was in the first place.

Allura seemed to understand his personal views when he explained it to her, but the ministers weren’t outrightly pleased when both of them explained their refusal of an arranged marriage with how they had already mended their relationship as Galra and Altean. Their unity as paladins was enough, as they were already one with heart and mind the moment they formed Voltron years ago.

"Maybe, you’d be better at ruling than I would.” Keith told him, eyes catching on the way Lance used a finger to scratch a scar nicked on his stubble littered chin.

Lance laughed emptily, dropping his hand onto his lap with a tired slap. “What did I say about diplomatic talking?”

“And what did I say about minding your own business?” Keith replied mildly, thumbing the next page to another chapter.

“Hard to do that when we have landline wires connected to our souls and brains,” Lance shrugged, propping his elbows on his knees. “We're soulmates.”

Keith exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes shutting close with a hand spread on the surface of the book like an oath giver. “Soulmates.”

“Yeah. Me, you, Hunk, Pidge, Allura,” Lance listed off indifferently, but his stare was heavy on Keith's form. “We're basically a human centipede in the eye of Zeus, Keith. If we aren't doing orgy, then we’re _the_ orgy.”

Keith snapped a wry glare towards his way. “I didn't realise you were into that.”

Lance acknowledged his sentiment with a sharp grin. “We're trying to be helpful here, you know.” He continued idly. “You'll probably get STD and die before you’d actually have a chance to talk to us.”

“I can already imagine people laughing at me for dying after having good sex,” Keith said, beating Lance into criticizing himself first. “A promising life after war thrown away because I couldn't keep any dick from my ass.”

“Hear, hear.” Lance ducked his head to read one of the books opened beside his leg. “Which brings us to the fact that you set up the bar too high as a way to vent off your frustrations. Now, you can’t even tell us what you're feeling without jacking off.”

Lance was right in the sense of Keith not reaching out to his teammates with what he was dealing with. They tried to make him open up, prod around a little until he was close to snapping for their insistence. They were able to detect his agitation and backed off, and Keith couldn't allow himself to feel bad for it when he found another outlet for his thundering turmoil.

“Fuck you.”

“Well, _there's_ a thought. But, what I'm wondering is why you're choosing men who have Shiro-like features.”

Keith stiffened considerably beside him, but the minute response was enough to make Lance lift his head. Keith didn't allow himself to make another move that would disrupt the way his tarnished dignity was currently balancing itself on the tip of a bull's horn, and instead chose to school his expression into something more neutral when he met his teammate’s challenging look. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Don't start this on me,” Lance warned him. “Pidge and I once followed you back on seperate occasions, and both of us saw how those men looked like when you were batting eyes at them.”

“You’d actually make a good dad one day,” Keith commented, trying not to ground his words out. “Saving your kids from people like me.”

Sighing, Lance rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Come on, man,” the first signs of exhaustion dripped into his tone, and Keith felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of it. “We're worried about how you're drifting off these days, you couldn’t even give us a heads up before you shot off to Earth on your own. Hunk had to make up an excuse to every high authority we meet whenever they didn't see you sitting with the rest of us. And now, you're actually killing yourself doing this.”

Keith thought he had been careful when it came to choosing a partner, because while having the rest of team Voltron knew about his ability to sleep with numerous people, he didn't want them to know the specifics of his choices. He knew how they’d react and the type of responses that came with it.

Unfortunately, he was caught red-handed, and there was nothing he could do about it as he faced the gaping mouth head-on.

“It's safer,” Keith told him quietly, and that immediately seized Lance’s attention as he straightened his spine. “It won't hurt as much.”

“Because they're different but,” Lance pursed his lips, clearly trying to understand the rational. “The same?”

Honestly, Keith gave up on himself some time ago.

He pressed the tip of his tongue against his right canine, wondering how he got himself into the heap of mess he was currently in when all he ever wanted was to be in college because foster care was kicking him out soon. “In a sense.”

Lance tapped a finger against the side of his shoe. “What about Kuron?”

Keith tore his eyes away from the fidgety gesture, from Lance, refusing to dive back into that pit. “No.”

Finding out that Kuron was attempted to be used as a spy within their ranks was enough to make waves of betrayal crash onto Keith without mercy. He had been easily blindsided with how he thought Shiro came back to them after the second time he disappeared, and he couldn't differentiate between the real Shiro and an organic droid who wore grown flesh and skin over his titanium endoskeleton to appear life-like.

It didn't help how Project Kuron was revealed to carry the same memories as Shiro had, to have his man-made brain recognizing the ways of Shiro's speech and mobility as he easily fooled the other paladins to let their guard down. It wasn't until Lotor tried to control Kuron to take them out that they realised the truth, but Kuron had gotten far too conscious of his life within the paladins as time passed that he was able to resist the prince’s orders and fight back.  

Kuron was given the chance to live with them, and he took it with enough gratitude that made Keith swallow his pain. Kuron even had the same type of advices Shiro would give, and stepped down to let Keith take full control as leader when Kuron insisted he wasn’t fit to do so. But, his support was relentless, and Keith was thankful for that despite the after effects it did to himself.

Nothing was going to happen between him and Kuron if Keith could help it.

Lance understood that, if the thoughtful gaze he zeroed onto Keith said anything about it. “Could you at least leave us a message or something if you're thinking of leaving? Or wait til' the appointments we have with planet leaders are done? And _then,_ you're free to dry out your sperm bank.”

At least, the argument was dropped. “The good thing is there’s no fruit from it.”

“Don't get your hopes up, for all we know there could be small, quarter Galra babies running around in some suburban home and looking for you.”

Keith only arched an eyebrow at him, and Lance snorted out a laugh. “Oh, _right._  You’re too gay for that.”

“Right.” Keith parroted dryly, making Lance laugh more.

“Okay, what I don't get is,” Lance began once he settled down, gesturing around the room with a flap of his hand. “Why are you using the kitchen floor to study old Altean politics?”

“Easy resources,” Keith pointed towards the island, where a plate of muffins Hunk baked the other day stood at the edge of it. “I get hungry after looking at all of these.”

Lance sent him a flat look. “You could've just bring them to your room, you know. How long have you been here, anyway?”

“A couple of vargas after I landed.”

The planes of his face shifted into something more incredulous. That was eight vargas ago. “Your single-minded focus is gonna kill you someday.”

“Too late.” Keith looked through the page Lance pointed at earlier. “Are the freedom fighters done thinking over our offer?"

Lance peeled off a new pink post-it to fiddle with, folding the sticky part inside as he began creating a small paper aeroplane. “They're still not interested in working among Galra, something about rubbing salt to wound kind of analogy whenever they're in the same room together. Pidge tried using Matt as middle man to pursue the Chief, but there’s nothing much he can do about it too.”

Other than the Blade of Marmora, freedom fighters agreed to the Voltron Alliance as they were determined in taking down the Empire as well - and for the first time in ten thousand years, everyone was working together as it used to be. But given how these freedom fighters were a silent colony of many species who came together from different planets that had once been under the Empire's reign, they weren't easily allowing themselves to forgive the same species who took away their family and homes.

Drawing the alliance in the beginning had almost cost them lives because of the prejudice freedom fighters had against the Blade, and the only reason they agreed in the end was how Allura was firm in showing the self-centred issue they were holding for dear life was completely irresponsible, and the consequences of their actions would haunt them for the next of their lifetime because of it.

It was when the war was over and all of them sat down to discuss about the aftermath that would come for the next decaphoebe and beyond, and those freedom fighters still couldn't let their hearts open to accept the Blade of Marmora as their allies. Keith proposed a truce by maintaining the Alliance for the time being in order to work together again and start weeding out those who were still loyal to Zarkon, but the Chief still had the same sharp and distrustful glare drilled into Kolivan from his side of the table.

Instead, they were working in a half-formed organisation where both the Blade and freedom fighters would give feedback to the castle. And yet, there wasn't any system that indicated on who held which part of the universe to begin with, allowing them to be scattered or overlapped on top each other. The only good thing about it was a fight didn't break out whenever they bumped into each other in the field.

It was a disaster, and Keith was getting tired just thinking about it. “They're taking too long. It's been three years, if we don’t do anything now, it's going to take a longer time to sort through everything, and we don't have that kind of lifespan for it.”

Lance hummed thoughtfully, as if he was truly focused on the plane in his hands. “You and Allura, maybe. Us human folk don’t.”

“Don't start.”

“I'm pointing out the facts,” he replied smoothly, lifting his work in front of his face to make sure the plane was ceaseless. “And, we’re not blowing horns for this yet, but Allura suggested in working the way it is without forming anything complicated. Just us, paladins of Voltron, having ties with both parties without shoving ourselves into each other's business.”

“Like how you did with mine.”

“Exactly! Everyone would be happy, and we wouldn't have to worry about bloodshed because grudge and pride were balls deep in their asses.”

It was the simplest way to end things, but Keith didn't like how they were simply disbanding rather than get along. However, the freedom fighters were far too angry, and Keith hoped they would resolve it in the end for the best of the situation.

Keith pursed his mouth into a thin line. “I'm guessing there's another meeting for this.”

“Yep.” Lance agreed with an ominous pop of his lips, and threw the plane with a flick of his wrist.

Keith watched the way it glided seemingly around the kitchen, making a large loop before it turned back to land on top of his tab. He figured that if the situation they were in needed to be settled as smoothly, an extra push would be the best call for everyone.

 

* * *

 

Four agonizing vargas later, the meeting was dismissed with all of them satisfied with the outcome, and Keith remained seated where he was while Kolivan and the Chief - a creature easily a foot taller than the Leader himself, with scales spread over his arms and legs while his whiskered snout was permanently twisted into a scowl - left the dining room through opposite doors.

The moment they shut closed, Keith heaved out a sigh through his nose that easily snagged the princess’ attention. The sympathetic look weighed along with her weariness while he rubbed the thudding headache against his forehead, pulsing angrily within his eyeballs. The other paladins were simply grateful the meeting finally ended, and slumped against their seats with a quiet groan.

“At least,” Allura began slowly, folding her arms on top of the table. “They agreed on it.”

“Finally,” Pidge muttered from where she was on Allura’s left, a thumb pressing into her closed eyelid. “If this kept going on, I'll push them both out of the airlock.”

“Can't,” Hunk grunted beside her, posture none too graceful as he slid down a few inches from his original position; Keith couldn’t blame him, not when Hunk was the one who did most of the work in making sure their guests didn't break out into a fist fight. “We need them both to help us, because doing everything on our own would be, dare I say it, a clusterfuck.”

“You guys seriously need to have some faith in the people we're helping and what _we_ can influence,” Lance said with a stretch of his limbs above his head. “They're more than happy to follow us in doing whatever we can in making sure nothing else would ransack their place, since we gave it back to them after all.”

“It's more complicated than that,” Shiro - _Kuron_ \- reminded him, and Keith noticed how he was still sitting upright as he was the moment they got started. “A lot of them had their power to rule taken away by force ever since Zarkon was involved, and the type of influence _he_ had was enough to sink into their systems for the last hundreds of years that we don't know just how much damage it did internally. Their cultures could be wiped out entirely for all we know, and it’s going to take some time to retrieve them all back.”

Keith was compromised, it said so from how his heart would whine and twist everytime this - _man_ spoke with complete conviction of the one who was supposed to come back. It was the very embodiment of knowing things were so near and yet so far away.

Temptation held him by the neck and cooed promises of freedom in his ear; the type of love Keith hid was threatening to make him do things that would surely destroy his ticket to penance.

That was just the thing, wasn't it? Keith loved Shiro so much that a _clone_ was enough for him to turn his priorities upside down.

“That could happen sooner if they’d just agree to work with us,” Pidge grumbled, readjusting her glasses. “It took us three years to only come this far, I'm just hoping everything else after this wouldn't be so damning.”

“I second that,” Hunk agreed with a raise of his hand. “I prefer shooting canon beams than this.”

“Don't we all.” Allura muttered, loud enough for Keith to send her an amused glance from where he remained seated on her right. Ignoring him, she began reaching for her glass. “How long does it take for us to stabilise this?”

She had her gaze trained onto Kuron the whole time, and he seemed unaffected by this when he let his shoulders relax, his left arm leaning against the table. “If we're lucky, half a decade. If the Chief changed his mind about the Blade, it's less.”

“ _If_ the Chief changed his mind about Galra in general, you mean,” Hunk pointed out, mimicking Allura’s gesture and took a gulp of Nunvill. He rested the cup against his temple once he was done; elbow perched on the armrest, dark brown eyes on Kuron. “Working with Galra soldiers would be a _big_ problem if you hate them too much. Y’know, being bias and all. Can't have that if we found a giant sign that said ‘intentional death that looks accidental.’”

“It's okay, Hunk.” Lance chirped. “You can say murder.”

Keith felt himself slowly tense, the wild urge to jump over the table and protect Kuron from his friends’ blame with teeth and fists alone was barely held back as he watched what unfold in front of him.

Kuron, having able to face the same type of treatment numerous times, merely offered the Yellow Paladin a lazy blink.

They hadn't forgiven him for being an imposter and a secret agent, wearing Shiro’s face like a trophy to be flaunt about - and they all knew Keith was more angry than they were on that particular problem.

But, he couldn't allow himself to hate Kuron. Not like this, not when Kuron’s existence was kindled with the Empire's intent on using him as another Champion against Voltron.

The only reason they were talking to him in the first place was because he was resourceful.

“This is going take more of our time,” Keith intervened, pulling their attention to him. “and we have to make sure nothing screws up while we work on it. Besides,” he reminded himself to grab a cup of something stronger from the kitchen before going to sleep. “You can't buy trust.”

This was him pleading his friends to not let the plague ruin their bond, and hopefully, make them warm up to the facts that had been spread in front of them.

Kuron shot him a thankful look.

“Let's just hope we don't get killed in the middle of it, then.” Pidge said flippantly, a prayer tossed out with almost little regard. “Breathing and contemplating life choices can only be fun when you do it right.”

“Breathing, sure. Contemplating life choices?” Lance shrugged. “Not so much.”

“Of course you’d say that when most of your decisions screwed you up.”

“You're including yourself in that too?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Pidge cackled, shaking her head. “Do not.”

Lance smirked, but Keith saw the way his fingers twitched on top of the table.

“I suggest some rest,” Allura began, eyes flickering between the both of them. Then, she stood up. “The Taujeerians would expecting us the next morning for their official opening ceremony on their new planet. While we're at it, introducing our current idea to them would be a good idea too.”

“An opportunity.” Kuron added, following suit.

She nodded slowly. “Of course.”

Chairs dragged across the floor as all of them made their move to leave, and Keith fell in step with Pidge as they made their way out. “Be nice to him.”

“Keith,” she muttered warningly, bearing the rear to let the others walk first. “I don’t need this from you.”

“He’s sorry.” He explained.

“There are few things I could think why’s that but I'm just gonna ask.” She shoved her hands into her pants pockets, the thunder in her eyes brewing steadily. “For what?”

“For leaving.”

“That’s actually a mild way to put it. And you saw him that morning.”

“Pidge.”

He remembered bumping into Lance in the hallway when Keith was on his way to the training deck. From his half-dressed state and the panicked look in his eyes made Keith peered towards where he came from, and saw Pidge gaping from her door with only a blanket clutched tightly to her chest.

“Look,” she began impatiently. “It was a mistake both of us never thought would happen; he panicked and, hell, I did too. So, please, I don't want to talk about it.”

“The way you said it is as if everything’s all fine and dandy when you two couldn’t even be in the same room together without picking out a fight.” He pointed out.

“We're always picking out a fight, Keith,” she said sweetly, giving him an innocent blink. “You should've known that by now.”

“Not to the point of really hurting each other.”

He probably hit a nerve when she drilled him with a hard look. “Taking interest in your teammates’ fuck-ups is not gonna sweep yours under the rug.”

“I’m trying to help.” He tried patiently, his eyes glued to the back of Lance’s head in order to make sure their conversation remained discreet.

“I'm not interested.” She hissed back.

Keith was beginning to understand why everyone had a half-mind on killing him in the first place. Sighing, he used a thumb to swipe the Nunvill’s foul aftertaste from his bottom lip. “Pidge -”

“If you're worried about Voltron, then you're wasting your time,” Pidge continued without missing a beat. “That _incident_ was a month ago, and I can count with my fingers on just how many times we've formed Voltron without any of us screwing it up.”

“I'm worried for both of you.”

“Worry about your hobby, Keith.”

The blow ended up making him pause in the hallway as he watched her turn a sharp right, a blaze of hazel hair and squared shoulders before she disappeared around the corner.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Keith went the opposite way and made a beeline towards the kitchen.

An invisible weight hung onto his shoulders as he let the castle’s quiet hum accompany him down the dim lights of the walkway, reminding him of the times when he sneaked out of Garrison with his heart in his throat and a tingle in his fingertips.

The ground lended their ears when he pressed on the gas of the hoverbike, and it growled in consent when he flew towards the sun with dust left in his wake. The wind carded through his hair with gentle fingers while he screamed his love into the ink-spilled skies of broken promises, and it did nothing to wake up the sands of time.

When the doors slid open, Keith had to resist the urge to flinch violently at the sight of Shiro in the middle of room.

He reigned the abominable feeling in with a snap, trying to soothe his rattling soul by drawing in a breath through his teeth.

_Not Shiro._

Kuron leaned his hip against the island with a tab in his hand, brows furrowed with focus as he used his left to scroll through whatever report he was reading.

Keith couldn't make himself used to the knowledge of having Project Kuron in the same space as he was. This was a fault he was going to burden himself to his grave unless Shiro decided to pop in and exist as physical proof of tenacious.

“I thought it was time for you to sleep,” Keith stepped inside, pulling Kuron’s attention towards him with a raise of his head. “It's been two days since you did that.”

“Maybe I'll able to stretch it to three,” Kuron joked, one corner of his mouth lifting up tiredly. “Or a week. Depends on how restless I am.”

“Maybe I'll join you,” Keith said, pulling onto the door of the small cell located at the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of bright green liquid. “Unless you want to be alone.”

“Company's fine,” Kuron assured him, watching the way Keith grabbed two cups form the cabinet before turning towards the counter. “I don't mind.”

Keith was supposed to turn around and walk to his room the moment he saw Kuron, because leaving them together in a small room with alien alcohol in his hands was poking the bear with a stick.

Bracing his elbows against the surface, Keith poured their drinks. He slid one to Kuron before straightening up to chug his with a single gulp, causing his audience to let out a low whistle.

“Is it good?” Kuron asked curiously when Keith slammed the cup on the counter with a grimace.

The excessively sweet taste burned his throat as he poured himself another cup, eyeing the other one Kuron made no move to touch. “Tastes like diabetes,” he replied, still holding onto the bottle as he set it down. “I could get my foot amputated from this.”

“Can't be any worse than destroying your own liver.”

“Don't worry, I'm only picking up the pace to death. Maybe the Vikings would welcome me to their Table of Valhalla.”

Doubtful. Only the worthy ones would see their gods, Keith had probably pissed them off the moment he was forced to act like them.

Two thick eyebrows shot up as Keith finished off that glass as well. “You can't really be that eager to die.”

Keith shrugged, leaning against the counter again with the cup nestled to the crooked of his elbow, the first telltale of warmth already licking his chest. “I'll take what I get.”

The words scorched his tongue as he allowed his eyes to trace square jaw and plump lips, along with those familiar eyes and the soft expression on his face.

But, Keith promised to himself he wouldn't be fooled into thinking he was Shiro, he wouldn't have Kuron to replace Shiro in every aspect of life as well as his ability to make Keith want to trade his life for his, settling for someone who didn't even exist almost four years ago.

Just thinking about his age was making Keith reach for Kuron’s cup and drank the concoction without really tasting the flavour.

“We're attending a formal event tomorrow.” Kuron reminded him offhandedly, glancing at the ceasing amount of Altean alcohol. “Allura’s going to decapitate you if you're planning on not going.”

“My dreams will come true.” Keith deadpanned. “I'll behave, Shiro, don’t worry.”

Three shots worth of sickeningly sweet alcohol and it was enough for tendrils of haze to crawl into the corners of his eyesight, the numbing sensation that trampled under his skin was preventing him from noticing the deafening silence until it seeped into his focus a minute later. Keith felt the ball blocking his airways when he met Kuron’s passive look, as if he was forcing himself to structure his face that way as damage control.

Kuron was quick to come to the terms of not being the original person a few years back, and Keith's mistake was a double-edged knife.

He hated how the name became a taboo.

“Keith -” Kuron began, his voice small and unsure that made Keith locked his jaw with a click.

“I know.” He snapped, the storm he kept under wraps now rolled impatiently in his chest. He paused, repeating the word the second time for his own sake, “I _know_.”

He knew, he knew how heavy the type of vow he held on top of his head and yet, he invaded Kuron’s space with the kind of maddening desperation that was nothing like the ones he felt when he was fucking with complete strangers.

This was diving to his doom while knowing what waited for him at the bottom.

“It doesn't help you're a part of him,” Keith said in a low breath, his stare forcing Kuron to level with his unflinchingly. “when you have the same mannerisms as he has because you can't do anything to change that.”

“Keith -”

“I want to kiss you,” he confessed with a wheeze of laughter as a touch of manic giddiness grated against the walls of his veins, and he subconsciously leaned closer until he felt puffs of warm breath hitting against his cheek. “God, I want to kiss you so much, Shiro. I want _you_ -”

Keith cut himself off, staring into those pained grey eyes from where he had shoved himself into a place he was supposed to avoid at all cost. This was a violation of what agreement they didn't need speak out loud for, it was the very reason of why Keith was going back and forth to Earth in the first place.

And the man in front of him knew it as much.

Swallowing down nails, Keith risked himself by leaning more until the tip of their noses brushed together. “Shiro,” he said quietly, nails digging into the counter until his arms quivered. “Shiro, please.”

“I'm not,” the man croaked out, the tab in his hands sporting cobwebs on its screen from where he gripped onto it tightly. “I'm not him, Keith.”

“You already are -”

Keith was silenced into shock when a thumb was pressed firmly onto his lips, a warm palm cupping the underside of his jaw that made his head tilt to where Kuron was looking at him with guilt in his look.

The small groan escaped from his lips was an accident, one that made the man holding him to close his eyes briefly.

“I'm not him,” Kuron repeated his words carefully, peeling his eyes open again to assess where Keith was nearly sprawled across the surface of the island. “You _know_ that.”

Keith couldn't do anything but watch the way Kuron continued to stare at him, and he opened his mouth to reply when the thumb slid across his bottom lip until it ended at the corner of his mouth, pressing into it gently that was enough for Keith to whip his hand up and clamp his fingers around the wrist.

When Kuron flickered his eyes up, Keith felt his chest heaving with each inhale. “Then, what is this?” He growled, voice thick from how affected he was. “What are you trying to do?”

With how the thumb was nearly into his mouth, Keith was tempted to wrap his lips around the digit and give it a suck.

It was as if Kuron was able to read minds when a dark look crossed his face. “I'm offering as myself.”

The floor seemed to be pulled from under his feet as Keith stared at him in surprise, and Kuron gave another swipe across his lip before stepping back. “You should drink some water before you sleep, you won't feel too bad tomorrow.”

The broken tab was still in his hand as he turned around to leave, and Keith was still holding himself up as he watched the way the metal door closed behind his back.

With a quiet moan, Keith let his feverish forehead press against the cold surface of the island, his hardened dick straining against his suit.

He was going to regret this in the morning.


End file.
